


All I Remember Is The Blood

by Cattycat1310



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Everybody Lives, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Married Couple (Sort Of), POV First Person, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Trauma, the gays don't die this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22232350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cattycat1310/pseuds/Cattycat1310
Summary: Dracula is defeated at last, but does one more loved one have to die for him to truly be gone? The answer is no, here's the version where Quincey almost dies but actually doesn't.
Relationships: Quincey Morris/John Seward
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	All I Remember Is The Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [100dabbo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/100dabbo/gifts).



Dr Seward’s Diary  
6th November

I thought I had prepared myself for the downfall of Count Dracula. I had fantasized about the satisfaction that would grace us once this evil had been ridden from the world. The pride in knowing I had helped defeat that monster and that my loved ones were safe at last was saturated.  
The ordeal had been a struggle, no- a battle and we had come out victorious at last, Jonathan looked down into the coffin with utmost fulfillment.  
When the Count’s ashes blew away into the bronze hue of the setting sun, I looked to Quincey Morris in a moment of relief and happiness. My hero, my brave soul.  
I looked to him, because I will always look for him to share in happiness.  
I will always look to him because I love him.  
And he smiled at me but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The suddenly somber expression drew my attention to the crimson blood seeping through his shirt and coating his fingers. 

I don’t remember correctly- I cannot recall the details of what happened next. I know that I stumbled to close the distance between us, to get to him, to help him. My memory of what happened is so vague apart from the blood. Crimson. Maybe I fell to my knees, maybe I screamed-  
but all I remember is the blood. The warm blood coating my palms as I reached out for him, as I pressed my hands to his abdomen. So much blood. Too much blood. The red liquid clinging to me as I scrubbed at my face in desperation…  
The crusted rust underneath my fingernails, that still remains as I write.

I know that his voice was smooth like honey as his words poured into my ear-  
“Don’t cry Jack, I don’t ever wanna see you crying about me. Not ever, you understand?” 

His strong hand caressed my face and the dying man pulled me so close that his breath ghosted over my cheek.  
“Smile sweetheart, it’s all over.” He whispered, the words tainted in that Quincey way that told you he knew best, that told you that everything was going to be okay.  
But this time I felt it in my chest that nothing would ever be okay again. Not ever again if I lost this man lying beneath me. I was dazed with confusion.  
Only foolish men believe in fate- only men who lack reason rely on the certainty of destiny; of people who are meant to cross paths and love that is written in the stars. But for him, I had always played the fool.  
Destiny may not be real, but I could taste it in my mouth when he kissed me- he was meant to be mine and I’d be damned if I ever let that slip through my fingers.

Van Helsing's voice cut through the intense ringing in my ears, but I couldn’t understand the words, they moulded and clashed together like drunken bachelors, until they finally made sense.  
“Put pressure on the wound.”  
From his bag he unloaded bandages and towels and threw them toward me with utmost efficiency and my doctor hands understood how to apply enough pressure. But my devastated lover brain felt numb.  
What if he didn’t make it?

“We need to get him out of the cold before we can try and operate, there is a hostel down the road. Time is not on our side.”  
Barking his orders as clear as a general marching his troupes into battle, Van Helsing was a master in his field and following his orders was second nature to us all.

Dear Arthur and Jonathan hoisted my lover into a waiting carriage and as he was pulled away from my arms I laid eyes on the scarlet pool on the freshly fallen snow.  
And promptly vomited onto the frozen ground. 

Two hours. Two hours I had waited in the God forsaken room, without a single word from Van Helsing. When we’d arrived at the hostel, the owners, clad in crucifixes, seemed alert as if they’d been warned that someone might require medical attention. Maybe they’d sensed the moral imbalance in the air, or maybe when they saw foreigners treading up the path toward Count Dracula’s castle, they suspected we wouldn’t come back in one piece. 

It wasn’t exactly a hospital, but the kitchen had clean surfaces, which could serve as an operating theatre. We’d make do. I wanted to help- no, I begged him to let me help save the life of the man I loved but he would not yield. I trusted him I really did, but I needed to do something with my hands, I needed to save him.

“No John, you are in no state to help with the operation.” The words like bullets, hitting me at point blank range.

“Please! I can’t stand by helpless like this, I can do it, I have enough experience!” I pleaded and I begged as warm tears prickled my eyes and rolled silently down my face. “Please!” But Van Helsing could not see past the face of a broken man.

“Your skill is strong my boy, but your hands are shaking. I am telling you to wait outside, and if you know what’s good for you, you will pray that he will survive this!”

So, I waited. And I waited. And as Mrs Harker took my hands tenderly in her own, I felt utterly useless. What man am I, if I can’t control my feelings long enough to save the love of my life? What worth do I have in God’s eyes, if I can’t at least help Dr Van Helsing perform the procedure? Helpless.

The best I could do was sit there and allow Mina’s comfort to consume me for a while. I sat there and I let myself sink. Such a mess. If my mother could have laid eyes on me then, well she would have licked her thumb and scrubbed at my ruddy complexion like she did when I was small. Turned me into that clumsy five year old boy who I longed to be again. Not a care in the world…oh how the world corrupts us as we age.

The gold band on my finger suddenly felt heavier than stone, weighing down my heart as I tried to clean the dried blood from the shiny surface. Oh, the gentle words Quince has spoken when he’d given me this token… This promise, this vow to take care of me and love me, an unspoken oath to protect me for always. God, how I wished I’d had the strength to do the same for him. So tender, the words that came from his soft lips replayed in head.  
“I want you to wear this, Jack” My vision became blurred as I welled up at the memory, “and think of me every time you see it.”  
I was certain that if I stood up, I might very well throw up again. So, I stayed. And I waited.

“We need to perform a blood transfusion.”  
Van Helsing’s words were stark against the suffocating silence that was heavy in the room where we sat. I rose abruptly, instinctively.

“I’ll do it.”

“John” Arthur interrupted, “let me, you don’t look well my friend, I’m the strong enough to-”

“I said” the sharp tone cut my tongue as I spoke “I will do it. Now stand aside! I have to do this for him! You don’t understand.”

“Listen, I really-”

“No, Arthur Godalming, you listen to me. You gave your blood for your Lucy without question, every drop you had if need be. Don’t think for a second that I won’t give up mine for Quincey!”

The implications of my words hit them all, and I watched as it happened. They all fell into silence. Everyone stood, almost stunned trying to avoid my eyes. Maybe my attitude was brash, but I didn’t care, let them think what they think, as long as he was okay.

“Very well, my child” Placing a firm hand on my shoulder, Van Helsing agreed and urged me toward the dark corridor.

Before we reached the door to the chamber where they were keeping poor, dear Quincey after his surgery, he stopped abruptly and grasped my arm. With his free hand he removed his hat slowly and pressed it to his chest. A solemn look passed over his face, and he said in a low whisper  
“Now John, he survived the procedure and we managed to stop the bleeding but” he paused to sigh “he’s unconscious at the moment and in a bad way. I just don’t want you to be surprised when you see him…like this.”

I could take it, I am a Doctor who works in an insane asylum for heaven’s sake! It should have been easy walking into that room, if it had been anybody else inhabiting it. If anyone else in the whole world had been stabbed, I could have kept a steady hand and a clear head but…this wasn’t just any man. I suddenly became very aware of his blood that clung to my hands.

“Wait” I reached for Van Helsing’s arm and gripped tightly onto the rough fabric of his jacket, my chest suddenly feeling tight. My mind was pained with the image of my Quincey, my strong, American sweetheart bleeding out onto the crisp snow, and I held firmly onto my mentor, to prevent myself stumbling forward. “He’s going to be okay, isn’t he? I need you to promise me.”

He hesitated briefly before patting my back, assuring me, “He should recover safely after we top up his blood, he’s lost rather a lot you see.” Opening the door slowly, he urged me to enter.

I must have drifted off into a light sleep, or have been too dazed to keep my eyes open after the transfusion, because when I came to, I was slouched against the hard back of the uncomfortable wooden chair, a dull ache in my lower back. At least my hands had stopped trembling whilst I slept, and I ran them roughly through my hair. The dimly lit room pressed against my heavy head and through the thin drapes, I could see the cold crispness of dawn peaking over the jagged horizon. It really was over. And it was peaceful.

“Hey there darlin” a small voice thick with a Texan tang muttered from the dark corner of the room, from below the heavy covers of the hostel bed. From an awake Quincey P Morris.

Sleep must have stifled the shock and the numbness, because at his voice my eyes stung with heavy tears, and I let them fall, warm down my cheeks. My jaw hung slack, and I couldn’t form the words I wanted to say to him fast enough. As ignorance is in our human nature, we often think that our love is acknowledged and felt by those around us. And it’s not until we are confronted with the fear of never being able to express that love through words ever again, do we realize the importance of saying I love you.

Standing silently, I moved to close the distance between us. I couldn’t get to him fast enough. I couldn’t take his palms to my lips and kiss his calloused hands fast enough. My tears fell onto him in huge beads and I couldn’t show him my appreciation for his life fast enough. And I wept for so long, kneeling down beside his almost death bed, I wept clasping his hand to my ruddy face. 

“I love you, I love you” I muttered onto his skin, and I had never been more relieved in all my years of living than I was at that moment. I can’t live without him.

And as I write this entry, he sleeps soundly, like a child after a long day of playing in the snow.


End file.
